


Breathe

by viajeramyra



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Balinese flower bath, Bathing/Washing, Bathtubs, M/M, Mild Smut, Neck Kissing, Sensual Play, Sensuality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:35:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28137039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/viajeramyra/pseuds/viajeramyra
Summary: The one in which Andrés treats Martín to a sensual flower bath
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote
Comments: 9
Kudos: 27





	Breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HistoireEternelle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HistoireEternelle/gifts).



> “I can feel you breathe  
> Washing over me  
> And suddenly I'm melting into you”  
> —
> 
> Merry Christmas, Sand. Thanks for the inspiration x

Andrés’ hand curved around Martín’s neck, as his lover’s head tilted into his open palm. He ran his thumb gently along the curve of Martín’s chin, smiling when a delighted little laugh escaped and broke the stillness of the air. The sound never failed to make his heart flutter, even when he used to deny all that lied between them. Now, instead of the faint ones he dismissed as some sort of momentary chest discomfort, Andrés fully succumbed to each and every flap. They spun something warm, coursing through his veins until it filled every inch of his body. 

Martín’s fingers tickled the back of his neck, drawing a mess of constellations with his rough fingertips. Andrés’ head dropped lower, melting into the curve of Martín’s neck. Andrés simply started with a smile, nuzzled against the strong round of Martín’s jaw. His thoughts recalled the night before, the flickering firewood, and smell of burning cedar. There was always something so commandeering in the way Martín kissed his neck. It was incandescent, wild and hot as though the brand at the end of a long poker. Those touches drove Andrés crazy— sent his world spinning for hours until nothing ever remained apart from the feel of tongue and teeth tormenting his flesh. Martín always laughed at the way every nerve in his body seemed to live in his neck, but never passed on the chance to make time stand still in the heat of night. He’d dug his fingers into Martín’s shoulders, begged and pleaded and squirmed under his lover’s weight until he couldn’t last another minute. 

Tomorrow would be different, had been Andrés' final lulling thought as sleep had claimed him in the comfort of Martín’s arms.

And indeed, it was in the makings to be. Martín’s neck was a newly unveiled canvas in desperate need of the finest brush strokes and he, the master painter commissioned for such a task. Andrés had every design planned in his mind’s eye, the perfected image of a final piece waiting to be born. Before the sun broke through the wide window of their villa, Andrés had risen from bed to gather the necessary materials. The popularity of the Balinese tradition made it easy to request petals from reception, while he had ventured to the early morning markets. Only a few vendors had already opened their stalls, but it was enough for the necessary ingredients. 

Martín’s peaceful snores had still filled the room when Andrés returned, and he’d smiled as he listened to the gentle noise. When preparations finished, Andrés had coaxed his sleeping lover with a few peppered kisses, unexpected and unpredictable in Martín’s early morning fog. 

Now, they took residence at one end of the rectangular, marble bath. A seat protruded around, buried under the water and the elegant, undisturbed pattern of tropical flowers drawn on the surface. Andrés sat sideways on Martín’s lap, the advantageous angle of his body allowing the wonderful continuation of kisses he began in their bed. The floral scent of jasmine, frangipani, roses, and lemongrass filled the room, the petals soft as they floated all around them. But even with all his senses ignited in the warmed water, it all whisked away in favor of Martín. 

Where Martín’s kiss claimed every essence of Andrés’ soul, another goal propelled his actions. There was no purpose, no reason in such an attempt of ownership of this man. One would not try to possess the sun any sooner then they would tempt to hypnotize the moon. Or, rather, they should not attempt to place restraints on something so wonderfully free. Reins were never made for Martín— such a concept would break the beauty of the man he loved. Martín belonged in the wild and free, the master of his own Fate. Andrés was merely an admirer, allowed to join for as long as he was desired. 

He had no complaints, no demanding objections. Life had offered him far worse before. 

From the little yellow bowl, Andrés picked one of the fuzzy, bright red rambutans. He rolled it between his fingers, before the little fruit found it way up Martín’s neck. As expected, a stifled moan followed the assault on his lover’s senses. He grinned, pressing the skin apart until the white fruit popped in Martín’s mouth. Grapes would certainly never do again in comparison; the ancient Greeks had failed in their search for something better, something more seductive born in a land so far away. 

Andrés would not repeat their mistakes. 

He knew it was obvious to Martín that his lips were being avoided. So far, there had been no objections, no attempts at shifting his head to claim what Andrés denies. Finally, though, he allowed Martín the tingling rush that accompanies the brush of lips under the sensitive skin of one’s earlobe. Martín’s freehand found Andrés’ wrist, fingers lightly pinched around the sides. Another exalted sigh, like a praising angel whispering a hymnal, is earned. 

From this position, Andrés felt the slower, rhythmic beating of Martín’s heart against his arm. Passion was always so wild, always so demanding before this. Andrés never stopped to consider the possibilities, of thinking more lied in pleasure than the heavy panting of steamy sex. This was new, addictive with the rush that accompanied discovery. Being with Martín meant breaking every nuance, every expectation stripped down to a bare essence until the world crumbled and rose anew. 

His lips sucked the faint pulse he found on Martín’s neck, both relaxed with each other and the white noise of the world just outside their bedroom. A candle crackled, the dancing ember a reminder so little need existed besides the two of them. Every dying flame could extinguish and here Andrés would still be, taking every ticking second to place another kiss against Martín’s skin. 

Teeth scraped Martín’s neck next, dragging down slowly. Each movement rippled the water, like little stones cast on the opened sea. Petals shifted, adding pops of colors against Andrés’ masterpiece. Martín’s fingers still danced on his neck, a waltz to music played by the sway of wind, the dripping of water over the sides of the bath, and of course, the crescendo of sounds he conducted from Martín himself. 

Andrés breathed, hot and heavy at the touch down each inch of his spine. Martín’s fingers tiptoed, exploring in their own right as Andrés left a bruising bite just above his lover’s collarbone. His head dipped against Martín’s chest as arms circled around him, the morning still young. For now, it was all they wanted— to embrace each other while the water cooled around them. Plush towels and linen robes would be discarded on the tile floor later on, as magic floated in the air. 

They’d be swept away for now, settled in the simplicity of this moment washing over them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this little dialogue free exercise!


End file.
